


Jack

by overused_underrated



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Saves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Graphic Description, He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Heavy Angst, Historical References, Jack the Ripper Murders, Mild Gore, Other, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scars, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sleepy Cuddles, Triggers, Violence, Wordcount: 15.000-25.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24521929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overused_underrated/pseuds/overused_underrated
Summary: Aziraphale hasn't heard from Crowley in twenty years- not since he asked for holy water. So when young women begin getting brutally murdered in London, the angel begins to worry about his safety. Without her miracles, Aziraphale must brave the streets in the night alone. But things go bump in the night...TW/CW: This series will include: graphic depictions of violence, sexual assault, nudity, PTDS episodes/flashbacks, scars, emotional trauma and recoveryChapter one is the only part to include graphic depictions of violence. There will be an indicator to show when to stop reading and to skip to Chapter 2.This is partially inspired by @asperank's (instagram) 18th Century AU
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Please read with caution, as this material is upsetting and may be triggering to some

Aziraphale was pacing the bookshop, mumbling to himself. It had been over twenty years since he had heard from Crowley. After their fight in the park, the angel had run back to his bookshop flabbergasted and appalled that Crowley would have asked for something as deadly as holy water. _A suicide pill! He asked me for a_ _suicide pill_ he muttered, angrily pacing the floor in a smiliar fashion to what he was doing now. Aziraphale’s mind was racing. If he kept his current pace, his path would be ingrained into the wood. 

_Crowley, why would you ask me such a thing? I couldn’t bear to lose you… What am I saying?! He’s a demon. My enemy. He’s not a...friend. Still, I should check on him. Don’t want him sleeping for another century. I’ve had enough demonic paperwork to fill out, thank you very much, Mr. Ididn’tevengetathankyou..._

Aziraphale's thoughts rattled around in his head, bouncing the inside of his skull. If Allan Alcorn had been born a hundred years earlier, he would have used the angel as his inspiration (alas, he wasn’t. Pong would have to wait another 84 years before being released). The late August sun was aloft in the sky, filling the bookshop with warmth and light. Normally, the feeling would have soothed the worrying Principality, but not today. The air in London was changing and Aziraphale didn’t like it. 

The angel paused in the middle of his fifty-sixth lap. His hands gently rubbed his temples as he took a shaky breath in, closing his eyes in an attempt to focus. “Ok, ok...this is silly. Crowley can handle himself. _He’s fine_. You’ve got to calm down, Aziraphale.” The angel opened his eyes and was greeted by his reflection. His collar was limp, bowtie loose, his complexion pale and...he had misbuttoned his shirt? “Oh, no! This will _never_ do!” At once, Aziraphale miracled himself spick and span. He drew in closer to the mirror for a deeper inspection. The angel noticed every line, crease, and bump in his corporation. Aziraphale never truly minded his appearance, but when his mind was heavy, his insecurities came out. _How about something a bit nicer, hmm?_

 _Snap._ With a small miracle, Aziraphale, or Mr. Azira Z. Fell, transformed into the beautiful Mrs. Eliza J. Fell. She found herself in a fluffy, pale tan dress with a ruffled skirt that was edged with blue accents. Aziraphale twirled in her gown; it billowed at her feet. Her laugh filled the empty shop, making the warmth grow just a bit warmer. She looked at herself in the mirror, happy to see her chest had nicely filled out the dress; the curve of her hips had more appeal than before, as if somehow this new look made her more beautiful. Her hair was longer, but was neatly tucked away into a tight bun, teased only by a few loose ringlet curls. 

“Aziraphale, glad to see you’re having _fun_.” 

She turned around to find Gabriel and Sandalphon standing in the bookshop. “Oh, Gabriel! What a pleasant surprise? To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

A hand appeared before her, stopping her in her tracks. “Save it,” he barked. “Aziraphale, do you know _why_ we are here?” The archangel’s words oozed out of his mouth, rancid and disgusting, like pus from an infected wound. 

The Principality’s face fell, her voice was soft and quiet. “No, I don’t.” 

Sandalphon let out a chuckle while Gabriel continued, “Aziraphale, you’ve been using a lot of miracles, lately. For such frivolous things: cleaned clothes, corporation change _, reheated tea._..” The imp in the corner shook his head. “Really? Tea?” Aziraphale had nothing to say for herself. “Right, well...we’ve decided you need to learn a bit of a lesson. No more miracles, ok? You’re on earth. You’ve got to do things the human way!” 

Aziraphale began to protest, “Oh, Gabriel, please! I-”

“Ah, ba-ba-ba!!” The hand returned, cutting her off, again. A sickening smirk found a home on Sandalphon’s face. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale. But this is for your own good. All of your miracles will remain as they are until you have learned your lesson.” 

“Yes, until you’ve learned your lesson,” Sandalphon echoed. 

Aziraphale lowered her head, practically bowing before them. “Yes, Gabriel.” Her eyes began to fill, and she couldn’t miracle the tears away. 

“Alright, very good. We’ll see you in a bit, then, Aziraphale. Have fun.” Gabriel smiled and in a blink of an eye, he and Sandalphon were gone. The tears pooling in her eyes swelled and overflowed, streaming down her face. 

_Well this is just great! I’m a blubbering mess and I’m stuck like this!_ Aziraphale cried, feeling like a child who had just gotten spanked by their parent. For now, she was on her own, left feeling terribly alone. At least it meant she got to wear all her pretty dresses now. A faint silver lining to this terrible storm cloud. 

Aziraphale spent the rest of the day sorting and rearranging the shop, a feeble attempt to keep unwanted customers from purchasing anything. As the sun in the sky set, Aziraphale flipped the “open” sign to “close,” and found herself laying a fire and preparing a kettle for a cup of tea. As she sat with her nose in a book, trying to distract herself from her thoughts about Crowley, the world outside was changing. Darkness was plotting and seeping, finding a home in East London. 

September blew into the city on the winds of change. The morning paper told the brutal story of a slain woman, stolen away during the night. Aziraphale had been right. Things were changing; something evil had come to London. The only question was: is it human?

The streets were filled with the day’s hustle and bustle as rumors filled the air. _He’s out there, somewhere, the monster! What are we going to do? She may have been a call girl, but that doesn’t mean she deserved to die!_

Aziraphale had gone out in the morning to buy some pastries for breakfast when she heard the cries of a frightened town. On her way home, she bought a paper and read in horror what had happened. Instinctively, she hurried back to the bookshop and kept the sign on _closed_ . London didn’t need books today; they needed to mourn. To grieve. To be on their own. _That poor woman, may she rest in peace. Mother, please let this be a one time ordeal. There’s enough evil here already- we don’t need another flood._

Aziraphale’s prayer was sent on high, but it fell upon deaf ears. God plays a mysterious game. Perhaps She thought the world needed to learn a lesson. Maybe She was bored and wanted to see how this would play out. Perhaps She was asleep. Or maybe...maybe She just _didn’t care_ , because a week or so later, another woman was found dead, her blood filling the streets of London. 

Two women had been slaughtered by the hands of a mystery asalaint. A chill took to the air, and not because autumn was coming. People in London grew colder; double takes became the norm, and women and husbands alike were always looking over their shoulder. When night fell, the streets that were once looted with opportunities ran scarce. Only those who were brave enough to risk their demise, or those too desperate to waste their chance for rent or supper, remained. Footsteps rippled through the cobblestone streets, echoing into the night- sounding like Death itself. How long would London be under attack? It had been almost a month and police were as close to catching the killer as they were to finding the Bermuda triangle: not at all. 

Aziraphale had kept to herself during this time. Without her miracles, she wasn’t going to risk anything- not when her corporation was on the line. She was, however, a fine and respectable woman. Aziraphale felt horrible for the murdered souls, but she was powerless. Though her powers were fading, a side effect from not having her miracles, the Principality felt the darkness growing. She could almost feel it calling out to her…

The clock on the mantle chimed away, indicating that it was closing time. Aziraphale locked the door and drew the window shades before heading upstairs. As she prepared a kettle for some tea, a thought popped into her mind: Crowley lives in East London. The angel began to shake. _Was this his doing? No, Crowley wouldn’t kill women, and not like that… He does like to switch up his appearances, though...is he ok? Is that why I haven’t heard from him??_

Her pacing feet had finally frozen still. _No._ She wouldn’t accept it. Crowley was the kindest soul he knew, there was no way that he could be responsible for such atrocities. Something _must_ be wrong, and as his friend, Aziraphale knew that she had to check on him. Despite how their last conversation ended, Aziraphale couldn’t bear to think something poor had happened to him. Miracles or not, she would make sure he was alive and safe. 

October was waiting for the sun to rise, but the evening was late. That didn’t matter. Crowley was the only thing on Aziraphale’s mind. She changed into her favorite dress, the one that Gabriel and Sandalphon had seen her in. It was elegant and modest; it was a dress of a wife. _A commander’s wife._ Aziraphale popped behind the counter and fumbled with the drawers. _It’s here, somewhere...I just need to find it. There!_ Nestled in an old, worn-out box, a beautiful gold snake ring sat, unused but not forgotten. Crowley had bought it for Aziraphale many moons ago. It was her wedding ring (they once acted as husband and wife during part of their arrangement. Crowley let her keep it. A _token of a husband’s affection for his wife_ is how he phrased it). She had kept it all these years. _Why?_ If asked, Aziraphale wouldn’t admit it, but she loved her time together with Crowley and (she’d _never_ admit this to him, herself, or to God Herself) she longed to wear it for its purpose again. Aziraphale smiled at the sight of the relic and happily removed it from its captivity and gently slid it on her fourth digit. The ring fit like a glove, even though it had been years since she last wore it. It just...felt right. It felt like home. Warmth pooled in her chest, and the front clock reminded the Principality of her mission with a chime: it was time to check on Crowley.

Soho wasn’t close to the East End, and without her miracles, that meant Aziraphale had two options: walking or taking a cab. It was after 11 and the streets were bare. _I’ll have to walk a little bit before I can find a cab_ . The street lamps were lit, illuminating the sidewalk with gentle light from the flickering flames. Being miracle-less, Aziraphale couldn’t sense the area or people around her. She, in essence, was human. Aziraphale had only her gut instincts to rely on; it had been _eons_ since she had to use her baseline senses, without them heightened from her miracles. It was as if a baby sheep had willingly entered a slaughterhouse after hours. You never know who or what might still be there...

Aziraphale walked on the edge of the sidewalk, staying under the street lamps until she reached the Cambridge theater. It was there that she found a cab willing to take her to the East Side. 

“Where you heading, Miss?” the driver asked. He was an older gentleman. Scruffy. His voice was deep, but kind. 

“Whitechapel, please.” 

The driver’s face went pale. “Miss, why you want to go there? It’s dangerous...I don’t think I can bring you in good conscience..”

Aziraphale’s face twisted at the disapproval. Her voice was soft- she knew how to work her charm. “Please, Sir. My husband is away on business and my brother is sick. If you bring me to the hospital, your conscience can be clear.” 

This man, who looked old enough to be her father (but was nearly five and a half thousand years too young), saw Aziraphale as a worried woman, alone. He let out a heavy sigh with a grunt, “Alright, dear. I’ll take you. A young lady like you shouldn’t be alone. Not with such _nastiness_ out here.” The driver helped Aziraphale into the coach and headed towards the black hole that was Whitechapel. 

Aziraphale’s nerves began to swell as the ride grew longer. _Oh, dear. Please let him be ok._ The horses’ hooves rattled the still darkness, rippling like a drop in a pond. You never know exactly how far a ripple will travel. 

“Wooo-ah!!” the driver commanded. A few annoyed _neighs_ came from the horses as the cab slowed to a stop. The gentleman hopped down and opened the cab for Aziraphale. “Here you are, Miss.”

She took his hand, steadying herself as she exited the coach. “Thank you, Sir. How much do I owe you?” 

The man shook his head with a laugh, “Don’t worry about it, Miss. On the house.”

“But, Sir-” she argued.

“I insist. You, just, go to your brother and stay safe, alright? Consider it my due diligence or good deed or whatever.” 

Aziraphale smiled at the man and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. May God bless and watch over you.” 

A blush crept across the driver’s face. It had been quite some time since he’d been kissed by such a beautiful woman (He’d say the last time was on his wedding day. His wife didn’t appreciate the joke). “Be safe, Miss,” he said, with the tip of his cap. Aziraphale headed toward the hospital as the cab drove away. Once it was out of view, she went in the opposite direction of the hospital. Crowley didn’t live far away from the center, only a few blocks or so. Aziraphale would have to walk the rest of the way. 

The wind began to pick up, wrapping a cold breeze around the Principality. The lamps were low on kerosene, and the lights flickered in the wind. Aziraphale cautiously crept down an alley that led to a square. Music and laughter escaped from a bar on the corner. The angel glanced in, searching for her demon. To her dismay, Crowley wasn’t among the crowd. _He must be home, then._ She took a breath and continued on her way. 

“Are you alright, Miss?” a voice asked.

Aziraphale turned and found a well-dressed man in the square. He was smoking a pipe, his match still lit, that blew out with a gust of wind. 

Despite his harmless appearance, Aziraphale felt strange at the question. “Yes, thank you. I’m just heading back to my brother. He’s sick and needs me.” She was too preoccupied with thoughts of Crowley to think about her own safety. 

The man walked toward her, enjoying a draw from the pipe. The words poured out of his mouth in conjunction with the smoke, as each fought for the center of Aziraphale’s attention. “May I walk you home? The streets aren’t safe like they used to be. A beautiful woman like you should have an escort. I’d hate to see anything about you in the papers tomorrow.”

Aziraphale examined his face. He was a younger man, dark hair, a thin mustache rested on a plain face. He looked like he could have been anyone- or he could have been no one. The only distinguishing trademark was a brown stain on the inside of his right wrist. It looked like a large wine drop. Aziraphale was unsure of his nature. Without her miracles, she had no true way of sensing just how diabolical of a man he was. “Oh, I don’t know, Sir. That’s very kind of you, but-” 

“Oh, please. I insist! It’s late, the moon is just a sliver of itself. Bad things happen in the dark.” His voice feigned sincerity well. Red flags should have been going off in her head, but Aziraphale was left to her human defenses. She thought he was being kind, just as her cab driver had been. 

“Well, alright. If you insist. Mr….?”

“John. John Johnson. People tend to call me _Jack_ ,” he said with a soft chuckle, extending a hand to greet Aziraphale.

She offered her hand in response. Jack took it, bringing it to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. As her hand was received, Aziraphale welcomed her new company, “Mr. Johnson. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You are a true gentleman.” 

Jack smiled, “Oh, my dear, that’s my whole goal.” He took Aziraphale’s hand, extended it, and guided her arm to interlock with his. “Please, lead the way.” Aziraphale did as requested, taking them away from the bright, vibrant bar and leading them towards a series of connecting side streets. “So, Miss. You’re seeing your brother?”

Aziraphale nodded, “Yes. He’s at home, sick. My husband is indisposed at the moment, but I couldn’t leave my brother alone at a time like this. I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to him…” Aziraphale, an angel, was fabricating the truth a little, but her feelings were far from fiction.

“Your husband...what does he do?” Jack asked, his brow arched. His left hand still held the pipe. He took another draw from it, filling the space between them with a deep, woodsy smell. It reminded Aziraphale of Crowley. 

“He...” she thought. Normally, with Crowley, she’d say her husband was a businessman, dabbling in all sorts of things. That’s where they got their money from. But now, she had nothing planned. “...works for a publisher. That’s how we met. I own a bookshop, and he approves books to be sold.”

“How quaint.”

“Oh, yes. He’s a lovely man, my, my _Richard.”_ Yes, Richard. That was a name. That was a name that definitely wasn’t _Crowley_. Aziraphale was more focused on keeping her new truths in order that she didn’t notice Jack steering them down a split street in the wrong direction. 

Jack took one more draw of his pipe before sliding it into his pocket. His hand remained there, but the Principality didn’t seem to notice. “Richard, that’s a strong name. Is he a strong man?” 

Small talk. Aziraphale normally was a fan of it, but her thoughts weighed heavy on her mind. “Oh, yes. Yes he is. I’m very lucky. A strong man who never complains about putting my books up on the top shelf!” All she cared about was Crowley. 

_You can do this, Aziraphale. You’re only a few blocks away and then you can check on Crowley, spend the night, and go home in the morning._ The two were halfway down the lane when Aziraphale realized they had made a wrong turn. 

“Oh, dear me. We must have went left instead of right. Oh, Sir, I’m sorry, we’ll-” It was too late. Aziraphale was whisked away into an alley off the road. Jack covered her mouth with his hand and slammed her into a wall. From his pocket, the pipe was replaced with a razor. Its blade was longer than that of a switchblade and it was sharper than a knife. Jack meant business and not the angelic kind. 

**TW/CW: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, NUDITY, and BLOOD. Read with caution, or skip to Chapter 2.**

“Shut. Up.” His voice was quiet, but he spat the words at her. They were harsh and bitter, the polar opposite of his composure thirty seconds ago. He held the knife to her throat, pressing the blade into her skin. She let out a quiet gasp of fear, her skin trembled under his touch; this was not in the evening’s plans. “Scream and I slice your throat. Got it?” 

Panic-filled eyes bulged in their sockets. Aziraphale nodded, Jack’s hand moving up and down with her head.

“Good girl...” The hand was removed from her mouth, but the razor-wielding one remained still, transfixed on where her Adam’s apple used to be. It nuzzled into her skin, itching to be pressed just a little deeper... Jack’s free hand began to roam. It traveled up the base of her neck, over her cheek, across her temple, and then grazed her scalp. Aziraphale’s hair had been wrapped up in a bun, accentuated with a few ringlet curls made from the too-short tendrils that didn’t quite make it. Jack palmed the bun in his fist and with quick fingers ripped it, forcing her hair out. Aziraphale let out a yelp of pain as Jack twirled a few strands in his fingers. He raised the razor in front of her face, tapped her nose and then cut off a single lock. He held it in front of her, mocking her with just the beginning of what was to come.

Jack had pulled so tightly on her hair that Aziraphale’s scalp began to bleed. A small bead of blood trickled down her face. He saw the drop as it reached her cheek. His eyes widened at the sight; Jack’s hand traced its route and his index finger scooped it onto its pad, gracing his skin with its decadence. Aziraphale watched in horror as Jack brought his finger to his mouth and sucked it clean. Her face went pale at the sight. 

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. We’re just getting started...” Jack’s hand returned behind her head and he pushed her towards him. In response, she tilted her head to the side, offering her cheek up in defense. A sinister smile spread across his lips- this is what he wanted. Jack’s tongue pressed into her flesh and worked its way up to the base of her hairline, following the red path. His saliva mixed with the blood, smearing its once clean wake, leaving a messy trail as proof. Aziraphale wanted to gag. She wanted to run. To scream. To be as far away from here as possible. But she was out of miracles and out of luck. 

Jack’s hand traveled lower with the razor and began to trace the stichting of her gown. Aziraphale tilted her head back, trying to hold back tears. This was a humiliating ordeal on its own, but she didn’t understand yet how dire of a situation she was in. Jack was an expert with the blade, gently toying with the fabric- enough to make a sound, but not enough to undo the stitching. He let out a soft chuckle. His brain was swimming with possibilities; he could do so much with a girl like this. The question was: where to begin?

Jack’s hand abandoned Aziraphale’s head for her neck. He cupped it tightly before yanking her forward. His left leg extended as he rested his weight on his heel, creating a firm boundary between him and freedom. Aziraphale fell forward, tripping over his leg and landed face first onto the ground. Jack quickly sat on top of her, roughly demanding her to turn around and face him. Her hands jerked as she tried to shift under his weight, making it look like she was trying to fight him. Or, that’s how he saw it. 

“Now now, dear…” he scolded. _Slash!_ Aziraphale grunted in pain. The palm of her left hand had been sliced open and blood began to pour out. The cut was deep, severing several nerve endings that sent rapid-fire messages back to the brain: _Pain. Pain. Pain._ “Don’t spoil the fun.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help the tears. They fell freely from her eyes, blurring her vision. Not that she minded- the less she saw his face, the easier _it seemed_ to help her cope. The blood gushed out of her hand as she shifted under her captor, spilling onto her dress. Once she was on her back, Jack sank fully onto his knees. He was straddled over her, his head looming just above hers as he grazed the exposed skin on her chest with the razor. The blade was warm from being in his pocket, and now it was wet from her hand. The blade trailed blood across her skin until it was dry, like a pen running out of ink. Jack chuckled as he admired his craftsmanship. 

“Now...we can begin!” he laughed, his voice was thick and syrupy-like. Jack took the knife and sliced down the bustier of Aziraphale’s dress, stopping at her petticoat. _Too many frills,_ he thought. The others he had undone didn’t have gowns as fine as this- not that it mattered. Soon enough it’d be disposed of. 

The silky fabric gave no fight- almost as if Jack was cutting through butter. His hands quickly tore the shell away, leaving Aziraphale with her corset and slip. The razor was put to work again, slicing the corset clean away and nipping at the angel’s chest. A thin line of red mirrored the razor’s path on her skin, a small reminder of its handiwork. Aziraphale turned her head away. She was flooded with embarrassment as her chest and stomach were forcibly exposed to the streets of London. The cool October air brushed over her skin, making her nipples become pert and erect. 

A sinister smile, more like a hungry dog’s snarl, spread across his lips. “Glad to see you’re enjoying this as much as me…” His voice was husky, disrupted by heaving breaths. He was enjoying this too much. Jack grabbed Aziraphale’s bleeding hand and placed it on his crotch. “See?” She quickly jerked it away, not wanting to feel his sickening self-indulgence. 

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Well...if that’s how we’re going to be, I guess I’ll have to have fun on my own...” His hands instantly were on her plump breasts, squeezing them as hard as he possibly could. Aziraphale yelled out in pain. Jack covered her mouth with his hand and pushed his knees inward, digging into her sides. Her right breast had been abandoned, a wrong which he intended to right. Jack’s mouth latched onto her, sinking his teeth deep into the tissue, like a starved animal gorging itself on a feast. His teeth cut so deeply that when he finally let go, blood lingeried on the corners of his mouth. Azirphale’s tears were pouring down her face and her whole body was shaking. 

“Please…” she begged, her voice weak and riddled with fear. “Please stop this...”

Jack shook his head in disappointment. His hand reclaimed the razor and brought it to her cheek, taunting her with the edge. “What, love?”

Aziraphale blinked away the tears and was truly face to face with her attacker. Though it was dark, she could make out his features: his dastardly mouth, his nose, his piercing eyes. He watched her like a lion stalking a gazelle- just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

“Please...I have money. My-my husband...”

The razor stopped and nestled into her cheek, pricking the skin. If he were to push harder, it’d go straight through her flesh. “Money? Silly girl...I don’t _want your money!_ ” he spat. Blood began to pool where the razor dug into Aziraphale’s skin. “I..want.. _you!”_ The words hit hard, worse than the embarrassment or the pang of her palm. 

Aziraphale sucked in a cold breath, sending a chill down her spine. “Please…” she begged. The next words were too painful. She was a Principality; an angel of Heaven. Would she really sell herself so short? Without her miracles, Aziraphale was cornered between a rock and a hard place. It was _this_ or her life. “Please...you can have _me_. Just...just don't kill me.” The words came out as sobs. Aziraphale was desperate. The only thing she wanted was to know if Crowley was safe. How did she end up here? Flayed open and exposed to the world- naked and cold, about to be desecrated on the filthy streets of London. 

Jack’s eyes widened. He drew closer to Aziraphale, his nose practically touching hers as he loomed over her. He rose a bit off his knees to get more height. The razor dug deeper, causing blood to pour onto her face. Jack angrily whipped his hand down, slashing Aziraphale’s face and neck. “What?!” he spat. He was angry. No, Jack was _pissed_. Aziraphale squawked at the rush of pain.

“ _You?!_ Selling yourself like a whore? No...no! _You_ are a _lady_. A wife! You’re supposed to be better than the rest of them!” Jack slapped her hard, splattering blood on the wall behind them. He returned to his knees, saddling her with his full weight. “You’re all the same, your lot. A bunch of _floozies_. You parade around in your fancy dresses, with your hair and makeup done, but at the end of the day, you’d take any man if you’re desperate. _Pathetic!”_ Jack slapped her again, this time with the back end of the razor, leaving a clear impression of the handle on her bloody cheek. Aziraphale began to cry harder, her sobs becoming louder and louder. 

Jack knew the best way to shut her up was to slice her throat, but he had had too much fun tonight. Aziraphale wasn’t the first girl to be caught in his web, nor the second. Two other women had been ripped apart at their seams and forced back together again. The world was not ready for a madman like Jack. He was a brutalizer- a barbarian. They called him _Jack the Ripper_ for a reason…

Rough and bloody hands found their way back to Aziraphale’s dress. Jack quickly tore off shreds, large clumps of the mutilated fabric and balled them together into a quasi-cohesive shape. 

“Open.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand the command at first. She tilted her head towards him, confused. Dissatisfied with her refusal, Jack yanked her mouth open and stuffed it with remnants of her gown. A smirk sprawled across his lips.

“There- that’ll keep you quiet. It’s about time you learned your lesson like the other ones...” Jack slid back on his knees, giving himself more room to work with. Aziraphale continued to cry, her sobs muffled by the gag. Her lovely dress was already torn to shreds, but that didn’t stop him. Jack ripped and tore her skirt, revealing her quivering thighs and concealed pelvis. What was the point of modesty when you were dealing with a dead woman? 

The crescent moon fought its way through the darkness, gently illuminating Aziraphale’s skin. Jack looked at her: how pale her skin was, the curve of her hips and belly, how voluptuous her breasts and thighs were. Aziraphale was a beautiful woman, there was no denying it. Men often would look back as she crossed their paths, hoping to see a returned smile or nod. There never was- especially when she was with Crowley. What she wouldn’t give to have him on top of her, open and exposed like this, rather than this _animal_ , playing with its food before dinner. 

While Jack saw her body, he was more focused on the blood. Red stained Aziraphale’s porcelain skin, like ink spilled on a page. Aziraphale was bleeding from her scalp, the gash on her palm, the line down her sternum from the sliced corset, the bite on her breast, the cut on her left cheek, and the slash from her right cheek down her neck and stopping at her collarbone. It wasn’t enough for him. 

Firm hands gripped her thighs and Jack slid him back closer to her hips, rubbing himself along her legs. Aziraphale could feel his effort moving across her bare skin, separated only by mere cloth. The gag in her mouth stifled a sound of disgust. Jack made quick work of removing her panties, leaving her completely naked in the husk of her former self. 

“You want to act like a whore, _I’ll treat you like one!_ ” he howled; the words hurt as much as the sting from her fried nerve endings. Jack shifted on top of her and exposed himself, preparing to do something worse than she could imagine. Aziraphale decided she had had enough. What was she to do? If she was going to die, she was going to go out fighting. Her arms flew up in defense, punching his shoulders. Her left hand had gone numb, but it was still bleeding uncontrollably. Blood coated his suit and collar. 

Jack leaned back, trying to shield himself from her limited reach. The razor in his hand began to burn hot, it had been waiting rather impatiently for the _fun_ to begin. Jack swung as Aziraphale punched with her right hand, getting caught from the inside of her wrist to halfway down her forearm. A shriek of pain echoed behind the wadded-up dress in her mouth. Tears streamed down her face as she recoiled from the pain. Blood spurted from her wrist and coated her stomach in a fine mist. Aziraphale had been lucky- Jack had _barely_ missed her artery. A second later and she would have been bleeding out in unsurmountable pain- that is, if he had stopped there.

“Naughty girl. Naughty girls deserved to be punished...” Jack wasted no time in taking the razor and cutting deep under her right breast, tracing its shape from her ribs to her sternum. Blood cascaded down her chest like a waterfall. He cut so deep into the muscle you could see the edge of her bones. Aziraphale screamed as best she could with her muted voice. Jack even covered her mouth with his free hand to stifle her further. 

“Good girls don’t get punished. But you’ll _never_ learn, will you?” 

Jack repeated the same torture with her left breast, feeling her writhe in absolute agony. Her voice was so worn out she could barely make a sound. Aziraphale had lost a fair amount of blood between her hand wound and her slit wrist, and now with her almost-severed breasts. Jack laughed at her. He reached and squeezed her chest again, sending a blinding wave of pain through her nervous system. The angel was growing light headed. Between the blood loss and her nerves, there wasn't much left in her. _Crowley_ she thought. All she wanted was to make sure her demon was safe, and somehow she ended up in the crosshairs of some new kind of evil. 

Jack rubbed his hands on her blood stained stomach, coating them in her spilled crimson. He then began to touch himself and Aziraphale’s vision began to fade in and out. As he stroked himself, Jack began to make slashes all over her body. Deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough to push her to unconsciousness. He slashed her breasts directly this time. Then both of her thighs, her biceps, her precious tummy. Nothing about her body was sacred. It was a piñata, a thing only meant to be destroyed for the sake of pleasure.

Aziraphale had more than thirty cuts on her. Her body had been ripped and gouged open, taken apart for the sheer fact that it could. She was completely defenseless, merciless at the hands of her attacker. Without her miracles, there was no chance that she’d survive. Her corporation would be found in the morning by some poor bastard and her name etched into one of the darkest parts of history. Heaven would send another angel down to replace her. They’d follow their orders, live without dancing or sushi, _they’d have the audacity to actually sell her precious books_. The thoughts loosely swam around in her head as she discosciated herself from what was happening. No more dinners at the Ritz, no more feeding the ducks in the park, no more Crowley. _No more Crowley…_

That was it! Aziraphale had one hail Mary left: Crowley. Demons weren’t prayed to often, so when it happened, they listened. That didn’t mean they’d always come, but they’d hear it, at least. As Jack continued to slaughter what remained of her, she forced her hands together and prayed _Crowley, please...I need you._

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. _Nothing_. It didn’t work. That either meant Crowley was hurt or held up somewhere, or...he didn’t care. Aziraphale sucked in a harsh, shaky breath. _This is it. God, please just let me die, already._ Jack was still ripping into her flesh, cutting deep through the muscle to the bone, to her organs. He had been feeling himself up while on top of her, violating her in more ways than one. Thankfully, he didn’t insert himself into her, at least, not yet…

All of a sudden, there was no weight on Aziraphale. She was too dazed to know why. 

_“Angel? Angel! Can you hear me?”_ The words filled her ears, but she couldn’t decipher where they were coming from; there was only one person who called her _Angel_... 


	2. Demonic Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does NOT contain graphic images of voilence. It does, however, contains depictions of anxiety, PTSD, flashbacks, emotional trauma and recovery. Please read with caution.

~

Crowley had been mulling about in his house on the East Side of London. Since the squabble in the park, Crowley had found it difficult to keep his thoughts straight. Aziraphale rejected him- both his offer and their nearly 6,000 years of history. Betrayal hurts the most when it comes from someone you love. 

To keep himself preoccupied, the demon threw himself into his work, hoping it would serve as an adequate distraction. Crowley ventured to America, where he helped those who were a part of the underground railroad. Hell didn’t believe in slavery (unless it was consensual or a part of a Hell loop). He left shortly after the war- too many redheads were being buried where they shouldn’t be...

After returning, Crowley putzed around here and there, stirring pots and causing trouble. His latest project involved him spending several months in Paris, helping with what many considered “a great eye sore.” But when the angel prayed to him, Crowley had been home, trying to enjoy the quiet with a bottle of whiskey. Wine had lost some of its charm- it reminded him of Aziraphale too much. Crowley had been staring at his glass, watching the liquid swirl round and round, like Charybdis, looking to drown the demon in his own misery. 

_ Crowley, please...I need you. _

That voice. The words echoed in his ears, bringing the ghost of the demon back to life.

“Angel!” he cried, shooting up from his chair. Crowley focused on the prayer and miracled himself to its caller; he didn’t know what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight he would stumble upon. 

The demon found himself in the back alley of a dusky street. In the dark, he saw a shadow- a black entity- hacking away at something. The smell of blood was in the air. Under the mass, two pale legs escaped, looking as if they had been planted after a tornado. Unlike the Witch of the East, red slippers were nowhere to be found. Instead, an elegant pair of shimmering white heels with an embellished rather fashionable buckle, were found in its place. There was only one person on the planet who’d wear shoes as  _ vibrant _ as those. 

“Angel!” 

Crowley was behind the figure. His right hand gripped the figure’s neck, he lifted him from his knees, and promptly threw him into the adjacent brick wall. An unearthly sound echoed as Jack’s body hit, forcing the structure inwards and sending broken bricks flying. The demon didn’t care. He could feel the pure evil energy seeping out of every pore- Jack deserved to be hurt just as he had hurt others. But that wasn’t his priority right now. 

Crowley looked in horror at the state Aziraphale was in. Her dress was ripped to shreds at her side, cradling her like a casket. Her face was pale, littered with trails of tears and blood droplets. Below her cherub face was ghastly. Everything from her neck down was stained red. Crowley could see every gash, slash, and stab; some were so deep he could see her bones. Her muscles strained as her chest faintly rose and fell with what few breaths she could still take. The demon’s heart ached and his anger began to boil over. 

“Angel…” he cooed. Aziraphale couldn’t hear him. She was too dazed from the attack. The only response he got were a few weak blinks. Given the severity of how badly her corporation was slaughtered, Crowley knew she was too weak to miracle back to his place. In this condition, she’d die before they even rematerialized. So he went to work, healing the worst of her wounds first. When she was better, he’d get them out of the streets and somewhere she’d be safe. 

“Come on, stay with me, Angel…” Crowley beckoned. His voice was soft and pleading. She couldn’t leave him like this- not after the years of radio silence. The demon tried to make quick work with his hands, but the cuts were too deep to be healed quickly. Aziraphale was going to need a few hours of time to heal properly. 

Crowley’s mind was racing as he worked on Aziraphale, thinking of the best way to heal her. He then heard bricks shifting behind him, accompanied by grunts and grumbles. Without stopping, the demon turned and saw Jack fumbling from the crumbled foundation, weak from the blow. Crowley turned back to face Aziraphale, who was still out of sorts. He finished healing one of the deepest cuts before leaning in and kissing her forehead. 

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered. Crowley rose, turning to the monster that had defaced his angel. A cold wind swept through the city, swelling like the rising anger in the demon. Jack stood on shaky feet, trying to catch his breath. He wouldn’t have the chance, as Crowley’s hand grabbed his throat, hoisted him into the air, and slammed into the wall a second time. 

“What the ever-flying  **_fuck_ ** do you think you were doing with  _ my  _ Angel?!?!” he spat. Crowley was going to kill him. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind. Crowley didn’t like killing people, and he’d never kill a child, but this  _ thing _ wasn’t a man. Crowley wasn’t even sure it was entirely human. 

Jack struggled for air under the demon’s grip. He couldn’t speak, his vocal chords were being crushed; he was lucky to make a few, pathetic sounding squawks. Crowley was not going to be merciful- not after seeing how badly Aziraphale had been desecrated. He squeezed Jack's throat harder.

Crowley’s eyes were glowing orange with rage. His voice was deep, piercing into what remained of Jack’s courage like the razor he once wielded. The words came out harsh and jagged, stinging as every sense and synapse Jack had fired  _ danger! Danger! Danger! _

“What? You think you can do  _ that _ to the woman I love and get away with it?” Crowley’s nails dug into his flesh, tighter and tighter until blood began to pool down his fingers. Jack’s face was turning red, and his eyes were wide with fear. “What?” Crowley asked, his voice teasing, as if this were a sick game. “Only you can roam the streets of London, killing whomever you like?  _ Tsk tsk.  _ That’s not how that works,  _ Jacky-boi!”  _ His nails sunk deeper, causing Jack to gasp in pain. “Now it’s my turn…” 

Crowley didn’t surrender his grip, but loosened it so Jack could get some air. After a moment, he squeezed again, tighter than he had before. The demon let out a laugh- he was going to enjoy this moment. And when he’d fill out his report for Hell, Crowley decided he was going to use Jack’s blood as the ink. A little self-indulgence- a lesson he had learned from Aziraphale over the years. 

Aziraphale was still on the ground behind them, weak and disoriented. Crowley had healed her enough to bring back a bit of consciousness. She couldn’t distinguish who or what she heard, but she could feel Crowley, his presence- miracles or not. Her throat was painfully dry, weak from silenced screams. Aziraphale feebly spit out the remnants of her dress, letting it pool on the corners of her mouth and rest against her cheek. 

“Crowley…” she cried. 

Every muscle in the demon’s body stilled. He kept Jack as he was, suspended and strangled, and turned his head to see Aziraphale calling out to him. Crowley returned his focus to Jack, squeezing with all his might without killing him. His voice was low and bitter. He spoke short and direct.

“Listen to me. You are  _ lucky _ that my Angel is calling for me. Otherwise, I’d kill you right here, right now. No remorse.  _ You _ ,” he said, using his free hand to poke Jack in his chest, “are going to run away as fast as you can. Cause if I catch you, I won’t be as generous next time.” Crowley lowered Jack so his eyes were parallel with his. “Got it?” he spat. Jack tried to shake his head  _ yes _ as best he could under the demon’s grip. After a moment of searing eye contact, Crowley relinquished the man who fell to his knees and gasped for air. “Go. Before I change my mind.” 

Jack stumbled before the demon, struggling to his feet. With a swift kick to his ribs, Jack quickly scurried away, disappearing into the night just as mysteriously as he appeared. Once he was out of sight, Crowley rushed back to Aziraphale, kneeling by her side.

“Angel? Angel, it’s ok. I’m right here. We’re going to get you home and you’ll be safe, I promise.” Crowley gently took her right hand in his and miracled them back home. Aziraphale was still in her dress cocoon, fading in and out. Crowley took a seat beside her and continued where he had left off. Who knew how long it was going to take to fully heal her? That didn’t matter. Crowley would use all of his miracles for the century if it meant that Aziraphale would be safe and sound. 

Minutes of tending-to turned to hours. The sun returned to the sky and light began to pour into the bedroom. Aziraphale had been dozing on and off while Crowley worked on healing her mangled frame. The demon was slumped in his chair next to the bed, utterly exhausted. He watched Aziraphale’s chest, now cut free, rise and fall with her deep, slumbering breaths. Crowley stood and covered her with a blanket before miracling a gown in his hands; he left it hanging on the door and went downstairs. 

The abandoned whiskey bottle greeted his entrance, like a hotel’s bellhop- a bit too excited for such a mundane existence. Crowley grabbed it viciously and took a long swig.  _ What the hell happened last night?  _ The amber liquor filled the demon’s empty stomach and allowed the thoughts that filled his head to swim.  _ Why was she out last night? Why is she a she? Why didn’t she just run away?  _ Too many questions with too few answers. Crowley would have to wait for Aziraphale to wake and answer them herself. In the meantime, the couch was calling out to the demon, beckoning him to rest. He’d have to do it the human way and wait. 

~

Aziraphale had slept a great number of hours. Her corporation may have been spared, but her mind had not. It needed time to rest, to reboot itself and come to terms with the fact that she was no longer in danger. The last time she was conscious, her body was naked and exposed, laying on the frigid and unforgiving ground in a pool of her own blood. Though she didn’t know it, she was now sleeping in Crowley’s bed, laid to rest with silk sheets and soft pillows beneath her head. Warm blankets covered her still, rather-naked self, that was free from nearly all traces of mutilation. The only remnant from her attack was a silver scar on her palm; such a large amount Crowley’s demonic grace couldn't have left her body without  _ any  _ trace. 

Aziraphale had faded in and out of consciousness when Crowley came to her rescue. There were flashes of light, flashes of love and warmth. She had no details or true recollection. Her brain tried to piece together what had happened, only to bring back all the terror. Aziraphale’s body began to fight back, nerves firing and limbs twitching in response. She wouldn’t be going down without a fight this time. Her muscles tightened and her body began to shake. It was fight or flight; do or die. How was she to know that the worst was over? 

With a jerk, Aziraphale lunged awake. The sun had filled the room, as had the scent of lavender, Aziraphale’s favorite. She was sweating, heaving with dry breaths, and was wildly confused. Where was she? How did she get here? And where was Jack? Once she realized she was safe, Aziraphale’s breathing began to return to normal. She sat up slowly, her body aching from its stiffness.  _ This room _ ...it felt familiar. Why couldn’t she place it? Had she been here before?  _ Maybe? _ Aziraphale began to take in all the little details that surrounded her, but it was the lavender that did it.  _ Crowley! _

Aziraphale stood, balancing on uncertain legs. She grasped the bedpost for stability, gently shaking her legs to get blood flow back to them. Aziraphale saw herself in the mirror and became aware at just how naked she was.

“Oh, dear. I hope he didn’t see me like this…” The words were coated in embarrassment, as if she had something to be ashamed of. She had been brutally attacked and nearly killed. Crowley could handle seeing a pair of breasts. 

It was then that she saw the moderate gown waiting for her. A gentle smile crept across her face. Despite her feelings towards his fashion, Crowley had impeccable taste when it came to things for her. She ran her hands over the gown, the fabric gently running over her fingers. Her stomach twisted into a knot. She could hear the sound of the razor tearing apart her dress. Her corset. Aziraphale’s heart was in her throat and she sucked in a shaky breath. Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.  _ He’s not here. I’m with Crowley. Crowley saved me. _

_ Crowley saved me. Crowley saved me.  _ The words repeated in her head, over and over again. They helped ground her, bringing her back from the night and into the day. The redness in her eyes subsided and she slipped on the dress. Unlike the one that remained in tatters, this dress was a rich emerald green with black adornments. The sleeves rested on her shoulders, revealing her unmarked chest and collar. A warmth spread across Aziraphale’s skin and in her belly. In the mirror, she straightened and smoothed out the skirt. A flash of gold caught her eye; the serpent that guarded her finger remained, reminding her of why she had come. There were to be no more delays, Aziraphale wanted to - and was going to- see Crowley.

Aziraphale shuffled out of the bedroom, finding her way to the stairs. There was a demon that she needed to speak with. Crowley was lying awkwardly on the couch, his legs resting against the coffee table in an ungentlemanly way. The bottle of whiskey had been drained. His head was tilted back, resting on the cushion behind him. When he heard Aziraphale on the stairs, his eyes shot open. He stood, a bit too quickly, making him lose his stance. The demon fumbled forward, jutting his shin into the coffee table. 

“Satan, damn it!” he yelled, annoyed at himself for such tomfoolery.

Aziraphale laughed. The first words she heard in over twenty years- what else what be more Crowley-esque? She followed the cry and found Crowley rubbing his leg. His mouth fell open when she walked in the room. Aziraphale was a sight to see in that dress- it accentuated her in all the best places. That, plus the drastic difference in her appearance from a few hours ago, Crowley was at a loss for words. 

“Crowley…” she cooed, happily running towards the demon.

“Angel!” Crowley wrapped her in a big hug, feeling her in his arms. He held her tightly, trying to see if she was real, or if it was just a phantom of his imagination. Aziraphale couldn’t help herself. Seeing Crowley, holding him,  _ knowing _ he was safe and knowing that  _ he _ was the one to save het, it was all too much. The floodgates opened and tears ran down her face. She held onto him, like a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. 

Between the sniffles and sobs, she managed a weak, “Thank you.” Crowley’s heart skipped a beat and he squeezed her tighter. Something was different about her; he didn’t know what, but because of it, she almost died. To  Hel , to  Heav , to fuck with “opposite sides,” bureaucratic foramlities. Crowley almost lost his best friend- he’d be damned if he ignored her now. 

They remained there, like that, for a short while. A shattered angel resting in the arms of a demon; the world didn’t exist beyond the walls of that small house. Aziraphale sniffed the last few sobs away, and slowly released the tension in her arms. She stepped back, wiping the tears from her eyes. Crowley handed her his pocket square. She smiled at the kind gesture, took the cloth gently in her hands, and blotted her face dry. 

“Are you, uh, hungry, Angel?” Crowley asked, the words scratchy in his dry throat. 

“No, not particularly. I don’t think my stomach could handle much of anything right now...tea would be lovely, though.” 

Crowley nodded and went to his kitchen; Aziraphale followed in tow. On the stove, a large kettle sat waiting. Crowley lit a flame and set it, waiting for it to scream. Aziraphale took a seat at the small table in the corner that sat before a window. The morning light was bright, making it difficult to see. She squinted at the uneasiness, a disgusting knot beginning to twist in her stomach. With a deep breath, she took a seat and watched as the demon quietly moved about his kitchen. A silver tray, one that Aziraphale had always admired, was prepped with saucers and cups. Soft clinks from metal-on-metal filled the space between them, both too anxious to break the silence. 

When there was nothing left to prep, Crowley stepped out of the kitchen, needing a moment to catch his breath.  _ Why is this so difficult? It’s still him...her. She’s still my angel. I can’t get that image of her out of my head _ … Crowley didn’t have much time to regroup before the kettle began to howl. The demon took a deep breath and returned to the room, heading straight to the stove. He killed the flame and carefully filled the teapot with the boiling water. The teabag bobbed up and down with the influx of water as brown waves seeped and swirled.

Crowley carried the tray to the waiting angel, setting it on the table with a gentle  _ thud _ .

“Sugar, Angel? I made Earl Grey. I know you like cream with it.” Crowley’s voice was soft, kind. Something Aziraphale hadn’t experienced enough of in the last several hours.

She smiled softly, “No, thank you, dear. Cream is fine.” The words came out short and compact.  _ Don’t be too loud. _

Crowley poured for her, the dark liquid falling into the light base, swirling and sloshing together. Aziraphale watched, half mesmerized half spacing out. The motion matched the floating feeling in her head. The demon placed the cup in front of her before fixing himself a cup. 

Crowley sat across from her, taking a sip from his cup. He looked her over, inspecting her. Her skin was pale and soft, as it always was. He couldn’t see any visible wounds, scars, or marks. No blood. Her hair was unusual. Aziraphale rarely wore it down, and never without perfect curls or fine braids. Instead, the blonde mass graced her face in gentle waves with a few renegade curls. It almost had a halo effect. Crowley let a smile grace the corner of his lips for a brief second before pointing out the elephant in the room.

“Angel…” Crowley said softly, “What  _ on earth  _ happened last night?” Aziraphale looked up at him, her face solemn. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes scanned the demon’s face, searching for salvation, for a way out. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to curl back up in bed and sleep for a hundred years. Crowley did it, why couldn’t she?

“What were you doing in White Chapel, alone, at night, as a woman?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but the words hit her hard. Aziraphale’s eyes instantly welled, filling up and spilling onto her cheeks. She couldn’t even look at him; she returned to her saucer, her tears falling and staining the table cloth. “Angel?” 

Aziraphale sobbed softly as the memories flooded her mind. Her body shook uncontrollably. Crowley leaned forward and placed his hand on top of hers, in an attempt to ground her. The angel jumped at his touch, flying back into her chair with such force that it scrapped the floor, causing an unholy screech.

“Angel!” Crowley cried. The demon was out of his chair and squatting before her. His hand floated in the air behind her, phantomly resting on the back of the chair; the other he held in front of her, keeping it visible. His voice was soft and filled with concern, “Angel, hey, hey...it’s me. It’s alright. You’re safe.” 

Aziraphale sucked in heavy breaths that fluttered roughly as she exhaled. When her eyes finally focused, they settled on the demon. 

“Angel?” Crowley waved his hand in front of her, watching her eyes follow it. “Can I touch your hand?”

Aziraphale nodded, “I’m sorry, my dear. Yes, yes you may.” Crowley slowly and cautiously lowered his hand on hers, letting it rest gently until Aziraphale twisted her wrist to mimic his position. She laced their fingers together and squeezed tightly. “Sorry about that..what, ah, did you ask?”

“Angel, you can’t be serious.” Aziraphale squeezed harder. “Are you ok? The last time I saw you jump back that quickly it was from me in the garden.” 

The angel rolled her eyes. “ _ You scared me! _ ” she protested. “You were a  _ giant _ snake in the middle of a garden, casually leaning into my face! I’d never seen a creature like you before.”

“You helped Gabriel with his creations,” Crowley argued.

Aziraphale huffed, “That  _ may be _ true, but Gabriel certainly didn’t invent  _ you! _ ” She laughed and loosened her grip slightly. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Aziraphale…” Full name. Anthony J. Crowley  _ rarely _ used her full name. “I was more scared last night. I thought you might be a ghost descending my stairs this morning.” 

“Oh, don’t be so mccabe, dear...”

“Angel, stop changing the subject. Please...tell me what happened. I..I need to know, I need to  _ try _ to understand what happened last night, ‘cause Angel...I have the worst thoughts in my head. I feel like it’s all my fault, and I-”

“Stop it.” A hint of rose flushed Aziraphale’s cheeks. This was the first time since the day in St. James park she actually looked alive. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong. Crowley…” she turned to look at him full-on, shifting in the chair to face him better. “You  _ saved _ me, how on earth could you think this was  _ your _ fault?” 

The hand behind her retreated, his left hand still held captive in hers. His voice stammered, “Angel, I...I don’t know! It’s been nearly two decades and the first time I hear from you, I find you flayed open like a pig on the streets of White Chapel. You...you called for me and I came too late.”

Aziraphale had had enough. She was on her knees, parallel to him. She was his equal in nearly every way. Her voice was soft and full of untapped strength, “Crowley, I called and you came. You saved me from that.. _. _ that  _ monster.”  _ Tears returned to her eyes, blurring her vision and wetting her face. “I-I can’t thank you enough.” Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into her once-saintly essence. He could feel the weakness of it. Of her. He could feel her trembling, ever so slightly, at his touch. 

It took Crowley a minute to figure out what was happening. When his synapses fired, he held her tight and pulled her closer to his chest. Aziraphale could hear his heart beating, fast like a deadly metronome. They stayed on the floor, each soaking in the warmth from the other, filling the gaping holes from their time apart. Aziraphale cried; Crowley did too. They needed it.

Some things can’t be expressed with words. They are best translated in actions, but specifically: in hugs. That hug was  _ I’m sorry, I’ve missed you, thank you, you’re an angel, never leave me again,  _ and  _ I love you _ all wrapped into one. Twenty years is a long time to make up for, but that hug was a start.

When they were ready, Aziraphale and Crowley picked themselves up off the ground and made their way to the living room where they sat together, resting in each other’s arms. Aziraphale, with Crowley’s support, told the details of her de-miracling and how she almost ended up shishkebabed. He helped her through it, grounding her with his presence, reminding her to breathe, making sure her teacup was never dry. When she was done, and all his questions had been answered, Crowley returned the favor and explained what he had been doing during their intermission. Aziraphale smiled at the normalcy of it all- at the normalcy of them. This was all she could have ever wanted. This was what she had  _ always _ wanted, but she knew it was too dangerous. If Heaven learned of her feelings for Crowley, her miracles wouldn’t be the only thing they’d strip her of. 

Instead of discussing how she was feeling, Aziraphale melted into the demon’s arms and reveled in their time together. Hours passed and day once again turned into night. Though they had changed positions, the two celestial beings remained in the living room. Miracled bottles and plates, now empty, littered the coffee table. The clock on the mantle chimed.  _ Ding. Dong. Ding.  _

“Is it that late already?” Crowley asked, looking at his watch.

Aziraphale looked out the window- darkness. Complete and total darkness. A knot formed in her stomach. _ The streets aren’t safe like they used to be.  _

“Crowley, dear?” 

“Yes?” the demon chriped. 

Aziraphale blushed, her face sunk inwards, trying to hide behind her loose hair. “Would...would it be ok if I spent the night with you? I, uh, don’t think…”

“You’re not going anywhere, Angel,” he said. Crowley smiled tenderly at her, wishing he could see more of the pink color spreading to her chest.

“Thank you, dear boy.” Aziraphale nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. 

“No need, Angel. Besides, a husband is supposed to sleep with his wife, isn’t he?” 

_ That _ caught Aziraphale off guard. “What?!”  _ You’re a lady. A wife.  _ The soft color deepened against her skin, making the ends of Crowley’s mouth curl up.

“You’re wearing my ring.” Crowley saw her curling inwards, retreating away. “I’m only teasing, Angel.” She turned her head away from him. Was that too much?

“Would you be opposed to it?” 

The question felt out of place. It didn’t belong within their sphere. It belonged to the outside world. Not between them.

“Opposed to what?” 

“Me...sleeping with you?” 

It was Crowley’s turn to blush. A fire burned in his cheeks and on the tips of his ears. “That, ah.. I would..wouldn’t mind…” The words fumbled out his mouth painfully un-smooth and he sighed at the attempt made. “That’d be fine, Angel.” 

Aziraphale smiled and let out a breath she had been holding in, “Thank you.” She visibly relaxed, returning from her “hiding” place. Crowley watched as she smiled, straightened her spine and stretched. He liked that- watching her. Seeing her as she is, how comfortable they were together. 

The demon shifted so he was sitting next to her, his hand finding her thigh. Aziraphale jumped slightly at the touch. Crowley jerked it away. 

“ _ Shit! _ Angel, I’m so sor-”

“It’s ok. I just need a little bit of time and I’ll be tickety-boo.” She smiled softly, taking Crowley’s hand and returning it to her leg. Aziraphale beamed a loving look at him. How long had she wanted for this to be so natural? Why did it have to happen  _ after _ such an atrocity? 

“ _ Angel… _ ” Crowley’s voice strained with longing. He had withheld himself for so many thousand years. And here she was- asking to spend the night with him. Crowley was a weak man. Aziraphale cocked her head at her name. Crowley, in a brief moment of courage, leaned in and kissed her temple. 

The look on her face when he pulled away was a knife straight through his heart.  _ I’ve ruined it all- fuck! _ Aziraphale’s mouth was round and open in shock. Crowley had never been so bold with her before. Not that he hadn’t wanted to be, he just never had the courage. But now, the one time he took his chance, he picked  _ the worst time _ . The night after she’d been attacked.  _ Congratulations, Crowley! You’ve invented a new kind of stupid! _

The demon was ready to miracle her home, to get her as far away from him as she’d want, when Aziraphale yanked his lapel and kissed him. Her lips were sweet, faintly tasting of almonds. They were soft and warm against Crowley, who was wholeheartedly shocked. It took him a moment to realize what was happening before he relaxed and kissed her back. Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around his back, finding a home with his shoulder blades. It was lovely and surprising (for both of them). 

When they parted, Aziraphale rested her forehead on Crowley’s. Their breaths were short and mixed together in the limited space. The silence between them was anything but quiet; their thoughts, though unspoken, were loud and clear.

Aziraphale retreated back with a smile. “It’s late, my dear husband. I believe it’s time for bed.”

Crowley smiled. “I, uh- I’m going to need a minute, Angel. Why don’t you head up and get comfortable? I’ll be up shortly.”  _ Snap! _ “There should be something comfortable up there waiting for you…” 

“Ok…” Aziraphale headed to the stairs, turning back just before leaving the doorway, “And Crowley?” 

“Yeah?” 

She smiled and whispered, “Thank you.” 

He nodded and watched her reach and ascend the stairs, heading to his bedroom. To  _ their _ bedroom. Crowley sat on the couch in her absence, his head in his hands.  _ Did that really just happen? Did...did she just  _ _ kiss _ _ me??  _ The demon threw his head between his legs, harshly sucking in a deep breath. “Ok...ok. It’s just Aziraphale. You’ve known her for almost six thousand years. She’s spent the night before. You know her. Nothing’s changed.” Well,  _ something  _ changed, but that didn’t matter. Right now, it was bedtime. 

Crowley took a few more deep breaths, before whipping himself back to a vertical position. His hands rested on his thighs, his back pressed into the couch. 

“Ok, Crowley. Just...stand up. And go to bed. Just like any other night,” he whispered. He balled his hands into fists and stood. All he had to do was go upstairs. The demon fought the urge to run, trying to keep his head level and his thoughts clear. 

Step.

Step.

Step.

Crowley waited outside the door, afraid to believe, to have hope, that Aziraphale was waiting for him behind the door. He rapped his knuckles on the door.  _ Knock knock.  _

“You can come in, dear,” Aziraphale cooed. 

Crowley swallowed hard and turned the brass knob. The door swung open, and the demon’s heart jumped into his throat. There was Aziraphale, his beautiful angel, in a white, lace nightgown, tucked in his bed. In  _ their _ bed. He stood silent for a moment, taking the scene in. 

“Crowley...is everything ok?” she asked.

The demon blinked back to reality, realizing he’d be staring at her for a minute and hadn’t said a single word. 

“Yeah! Yeah, Angel...everything’s fine. ‘S the nightgown ok?” he asked, inching towards her. Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, taking care to not lay down; not yet.

She softened, letting her shoulders drop, “It’s perfect, dear. Thank you.”

The demon had a smile form at the corner of his lips, and nodded, “Good...good.” Crowley carefully removed his shoes, leaving them by his nightstand. He shifted, swinging his legs from the side to be parallel with Aziraphale’s. The angel watched him; she watched how his body moved. How ridgid he’d become in the few minutes they were apart. She watched as he climbed into bed, cozying up beside her, fully dressed, just as he was downstairs.

“Crowley…” she chidded, crossing her arms.

“Angel?” he turned to her, confused as to the sudden shift.

“Dear...you can’t sleep like that.” 

“Like what?” He was in bed. She was in bed. What could he have done wrong?

Aziraphale huffed dramatically, releasing her arms and grabbing his coat. “You cannot sleep in  _ this _ .” Crowley froze at her touch. “If I had a miracle, you’d be out of it.” The wires in his brain began to short circuit. “My dear, may I?” Crowley couldn’t form words, but he nodded his head and sat up. 

The angel cautiously began to pull the coat off, helping it ease off his shoulders. Aziraphale looked the demon up and down and shook his head. It still wasn’t  _ right _ . The angel pulled herself from under the covers and sat on her knees in front of him. Her hands graced his sides, feeling the fabric of his vest. She went to work on the buttons, starting at his breast plate and working down to his belly button. Once freed, she slipped the fabric off his body. Only his dress shirt and his tie remained. The angel gently undid the fluffy knot and coiled the silk around her hand, almost like a bandage. She looked at Crowley, feeling much better, now that they were more equal. There was just one thing left. Aziraphale moved her hands to his belt. 

Crowley jerked forward grabbing her hand, “Angel...” he begged. 

“Dear?”

“I, ah... I’ll do this one. Please…” the words came out in hot breaths.  _ I can’t. You can’t...not like this. _

Aziraphale nodded, removing her hands and letting them rest in her lap. Crowley exhaled a shaky breath and began to undo his belt. He slid his pants down to his ankles, leaving him in his white shorts. The demon collected his stripped clothing and threw them onto the chest at the foot of the bed. He remained for a moment, a little overwhelmed. 

Aziraphale put a hand on his arm, her voice hushed, “Crowley? I’m sorry, I wanted you to be comfortable, but I misunderstood. Please-” 

“Angel,” he said, turning to her, “it’s ok. It’s just…after last night, I..I don’t want to…”

“I know.”

Crowley looked up at her, at his wife. Her eyes were full of light and of love for him.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Aziraphale nodded and leaned into him, kissing him with the utmost tender and care. She held his face, trying to ground her to him, and them to the room. To the bed. Together. Crowley pulled back, wincing almost. 

“Angel…” 

“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize,” she commanded. She held his face in her hands, making him look at her. “There is no rush, my love. It’s time for bed, ok?”

He nodded, making her hands move up and down with his face. Aziraphale kissed his forehead and pulled the sheets over both of them. 

With a breath, the lights were out. Aziraphale and Crowley adjusted themselves, pulling and pushing the blankets to their comfort. They each laid on their side, a generous space between them. Crowley normally ran cool, but there was an unmistakable crispness in the air tonight. In the darkness, Crowley reached out, his hand finding Aziraphale’s side. The angel smiled softly at the gentle touch.

“My dear?” she asked, voice hushed.

“Yes, Angel?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I’m a bit chilly. Would...would you hold me?” 

Crowley said nothing in his words, but spoke volumes in his actions. He inched closer, bridging the gap between them. He felt Aziraphale against him and leaned into her, letting his arm rest across her chest. The angel sighed, feeling him there. How she had longed for this so many times but never dared to hope it might be a reality. 

Aziraphale rested her hand on his and whispered, “Thank you.”  _ I love you. _

The two slipped into their dreams quickly, both too content with their reality. It was a peaceful scene, but one not meant to last. A few hours into their slumber, Aziraphale began to shake. The brain does not stop. It works day and night, ceaselessly trying to protect, process, and propel. When you sleep, the cage doors open and the dark thoughts run amok.

_ “Scream and I slice your throat.”  _

_ Hands on her. Ripping at her skin. Tearing at her clothes.  _

_ ‘Please…’ _

_ You’re supposed to be better than the rest of them! _

Aziraphale’s eyes flung open. A hand was around her throat. Jack.  _ Crowley! I need Crowley! _ The angel turned her head, gasping for air and desperate for salvation. She was in his bed, but he wasn’t there.  _ Where is he?!?! _

_ “Now now, dear. Don’t spoil the fun...” _

She wanted to run, to scream. The hand around her throat grasped harder. Tears were streaming down her face. Her hand was burning, as if Jack had someone conjured hellfire in her palm.  _ Please! Crowley! _

_ “He’s not coming this time,  _ _ Angel _ _. He left you all for me…” _

Aziraphale was convulsing in the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs. “NO!! NO! STOP!  _ CROWLEY!!!!” _

“Angel! ANGEL! Wake! UP!” Crowley cried, trying to shake her awake. He straddled her, begging her to come back to him. “I’m here, it’s me. You’re safe. Angel, please wake up!” He jostled her shoulders, trying to wake his wife up. Jack had mutilated her once, now it seems he was doing it all over again. “Angel!” 

_ Smack! _

Aziraphale shot up straight in the bed and punched Crowley square in the face. There was so much force in her hit that it sent the demon back, off the bed, over the chest and onto the floor. He moaned in pain and held his head in his hands. Aziraphale blinked the attack in and out of her vision like a thaumatrope. Jack was there, and then he was gone. She could see him behind her eyelids; her hand had a phantom burning sensation. Crowley was still on the floor. Aziraphale made out his figure in the darkness, his eyes glowing like dying embers. 

“Angel…” 

His voice brought her back to reality. She was home, in bed. Crowley was on the floor.  _ Shit.  _ Aziraphale leapt out of bed and went to her husband. 

“Crowley! Crowley, dear. Are you alright?” 

“Angel,” he moaned, trying to shift how he was lying.

She reached down to him, feeling for bumps. On the back of his head, a few drops of blood dribbled out. Aziraphale felt the sulfuric liquid on her hands. She pulled back and realized what she had done. 

“Angel, are you alright?” he asked, still moaning.

She stood, eyes glossed over- not that Crowley could see. And then, she was gone. 

“Aziraphale? Where- where are you going?” 

The angel didn’t hear him. She left the room and went to the stairs.  _ I hurt him. I made him bleed. I’m too dangerous. I need...I need to get away. Home. Bookshop...bookshop, yes.  _ Aziraphale, still in her nightgown, practically jumped off the last step and skidded to the door. She opened it and ran. 

Crowley stood, a bit shaky. “Aziraphale,” he called. She didn’t hear him. Her own thoughts were clouding her mind. Crowley heard the door open and bolted. “Angel!” he cried, confused and afraid as to what was happening. Aziraphale was human. She could get hurt. Or worse…

None of that mattered to her. Aziraphale ran barefoot into the night. The sky had opened up while they slept; rain poured from the sky, soaking her pale figure. She ran, regardless.  _ Home. Have to get away.  _

“Angel!” Crowley yelled into the night. Where had she gone? Why was she running? This didn’t make sense. This wasn’t his angel…

Aziraphale kept running, trying to make her way back to the bookshop. Street signs were a blur. Some of the street lamps had gone out with the wind. The city was dark but familiar. Without her powers, Aziraphale couldn’t just  _ know _ her way home, she had to really know which route she was going. Left. Right. Yes, this way. The bakery. She twisted her way through the streets, as Crowley followed her scent. 

Aziraphale was confident, her legs pushing herself faster and faster.  _ Go. Go!  _ they chanted, egging her one.  _ You’re so close! You can do it! _ She ran as fast as her body would allow her, her hand clenched shut and still burning slightly.

No reasonable person would have been awake at this hour. And no one would be out, especially with this weather. That’s why the angel was so surprised when she ran straight into a man, sending her down flying to the ground. 

“My dear, are you alright?” a voice asked.

Aziraphale looked in fear and burst into tears. She screamed at the stranger and curled into a ball on the cobblestone. “ _ Please!” _ she begged, pleading for her life. She had fought so hard, why did it have to end like this?

“I’m not going to hurt you!” he tried to explain, but it was no use. Aziraphale was sobbing into the street, shaking as if she’d been left out in the cold for days. 

“Angel!” Crowley cried, running to where he heard her yell. The demon was soaking wet, barefoot and undressed similarly to Aziraphale. He ran and found his wife a huddled mass on the ground with a stranger over her. “Angel!” 

“Sir, do you know this woman?” the man asked. 

Crowley looked him up and down. He was an older gentleman; his hair was graying at the roots and he was dressed moderately. More importantly, he didn’t smell. Not an ounce of insidiousness in him. 

“That’s my wife,” he said. His voice a mix of love and fear. The demon crouched in the rain, gently stroking Aziraphale’s face. “Angel, I’m here. You’re safe. I’m taking you home.” Aziraphale merely whimpered, her body and mind painfully weak. Crowley scooped her up in his arms and held her close to his chest. 

“Sir, whatever is the matter? She looks like she’s seen the Reaper…" 

Crowley looked at him, his eyes glowing in the darkness. “She almost has, or something like it...she’ll be fine. A night terror, is all. Thank you, for finding her, and your concern.” Crowley nodded his head and turned, gently trying to warm her in his hands.

“Wait!” the man cried. Crowley turned back, and a coat was placed on Aziraphale. “Poor thing will catch a cold. Take it, and keep her safe. The mind is a finicky thing. Once it goes, it’s gone…”

Crowley gawked in utter disbelief. “Your name, sir?” 

“Lincoln. Edward Lincoln.”

“The barber?” the demon asked.

“Yes, sir. The same.” 

Crowley inched closer, his voice was filled with affection. “Thank you for your kindness. I promise to repay you.”

Edward threw his hands up. “Get her home, lad. That’d be enough.” 

Crowley looked at his shivering wife and hoisted her closer to his chest. He gave Edward a nod before turning back and heading home. Once he was out of sight, Crowley miracled them back to her bookshop and headed straight upstairs. 

The demon placed his wife on her bed and kissed her head. She sobbed into him, “I’m sorry.” 

Crowley cupped her face and whispered, “I’ll be right back.” He went to the bathroom and drew her a hot bath, filling the tub with soft cream and lavender; bubbles formed at the mouth and grew in number. Crowley tested the water with his hands.  _ Not too hot. _ He went back to the bedroom and once again held Aziraphale in his arms.

“Can you stand for me, love?” he asked when they got to the bathroom. Aziraphale said nothing but nodded slightly against his chest. “Ok. I’m going to set you down.” Crowley eased Aziraphale out of his arms. He then grabbed a towel and unfurled it, letting it hang open in the air. “Angel, take off those wet things and warm yourself up.” It wasn’t a question, but a request. Silently, Aziraphale did as Crowley asked; her nightgown fell to the floor with a  _ squish _ and she sank into the tub. The warm water covered and the bubbles covered her pale figure. “Comfy?” he asked, peeking from behind the towel. Aziraphale nodded her head, her eyes puffy and cheeks stained with her tears. Crowley squatted beside the tub and placed a hand on top of her head. “Angel, what on earth happened?” 

She sat in the tub, letting the silence grow louder between them. Aziraphale fidgeted with her hands under the water, her fingers absentmindedly playing with her wedding ring. After a few sharp breaths, she answered him. 

“...he was there. In our bed. Choking me.”

Crowley clenched his jaw. He wasn’t there to argue. He was there to listen. 

“He kept squeezing and squeezing...and you weren’t there.” She looked at him, her eyes red and filled with tears again. “I called for you, but you weren’t there.” Crowley scooted closer to the tub, letting his hand rest on the rim. 

“Aziraphale, you were having a nightmare,” he said softly.

That was the first time Aziraphale really saw Crowley’s face. His eyes were dark and black, bruises formed under each. The bridge of his nose was swollen, but there didn’t seem to be any blood. 

“He was there, Crowley. I  _ know _ it!” She looked away and shook her head. “He’s going to come back and he’s going to kill me. You’re not safe with me.” Her voice was firm and cold. "Look what I did to you…"

“ _ This _ , Angel?” he said, pointing to his face.  _ Snap. _ “There. Good as new.” He shifted to be in her line of sight. “See?” Aziraphale looked and saw the demon’s face restored to its original beauty. “As long as you stop with the right hooks, I’ll be fine.” He stood and placed a tender kiss on top of her head. “Try to relax and get warm. I’m going to fix the bed and get you some pajamas, ok?” The demon took the wet gown in his hands and opened the door. He turned back with a look of concern and adoration, “If you need me, call. I’ll come, no matter what.” Aziraphale blinked in response and listened to the door close.

Crowley wasn’t a huge fan of things. He was a demon with very specific tastes. Far different from what his angel preferred, both in style and in quantity, but he knew how to make a house a home. The bed had fresh sheets and fluffed pillows. A few candles burned in the window. A fresh bouquet of red roses- wait, no- light pink roses- was set in a vase on her nightstand. A book of English poetry beside the bed with a cup of hot tea. 

Crowley had a fresh nightgown in his hands when he returned to the bathroom. He knocked gently on the door. 

“Come in,” Aziraphale called. 

The demon opened the door slowly, trying his best to not reveal too much. Bubbles don’t last that long. Crowley sat the nightgown on the counter, keeping his eyes locked.

“Here you go, Angel. Whenever you’re ready. No rush.”

It was too late. He heard the sound of water rushing together; he knew straight away that Aziraphale had stood up.

“Thank you, dear.” 

“Right. Um. Yeah. Take your time, Angel,” Crowley said, closing the door quickly. The demon took a deep breath and returned to the bedroom. His clothes were mostly dry. No sense in wasting another miracle; he had used so many this evening already. It wasn’t long until Aziraphale was standing in the doorway wearing the dark blue nightgown. 

“I’m surprised you picked this one,” she said, her wet hair messily resting on both her shoulders. Aziraphale grabbed a brush from her dresser and began to run it through her hair.

“I gave that one to you awhile ago. I was amazed to see you kept it,” he said. Crowley had gotten her the nightgown after their “marriage” ended. A parting gift, he had called it. A navy blue nightgown with gold embroidery. 

“It’s one of my favorites.” Aziraphale was standing in the room- she made no attempt to sit. “You’ve always had good taste.”

A blush crept across Crowley’s face. “Well...I’m glad you like it so much.” He watched Aziraphale become more and more awkward as she finished brushing her hair. “Aziraphale,” he pleaded, “you need to rest.”

“Thank you, dear, but I’m fine,” she protested. 

“Angel…” Crowley stood, making his way to her.

“Honestly, I’m fine, Crowley.” Her back tightened and she turned to the dresser, unable to look at him.

“Angel, you need to rest. You’ve been through a lot; you must be exhausted.” 

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said, her words getting shorter and shorter.

“You’re human, Angel. You need to rest. To sleep. To heal,” he continued.

She turned round fast, “No! I’m not going back to bed!” Her face was flushed and her breathing was hard. She was shaking.

“Angel,” he said; his voice was filled with defeat. “You’re going to burn yourself out.” Her face softened, just a little. “I don’t want to see you hurt anymore…”

Her eyes filled again and her shoulders slouched. “Do you think I like this? That I want to feel this way?”

“No.” 

“Well, I don’t. I  _ hate _ feeling this- this weak! And small! I hate that I need you around 24/7 to let my guard down just the tiniest bit! And you know what I hate most?” she asked. Crowley just stood there, letting her go off. “I hate that  _ he _ did this to me. That I let him take so much of myself away. And he’s still out there, doing Lord knows what! And I’m here, just a goddamned mess!” Aziraphale threw her arms up in defeat and cried. Crowley went to her and pulled her tightly into his chest. She sobbed into his shoulder, shaking as the weight of everything seeped out of her. “I don’t want to feel like this...and I don’t want to hurt you.” Crowley shushed her, as he rocked back and forth gently. When she had cried herself out, he walked her to the bed and tucked her in.

“I’m not going to sleep, Crowley.” Aziraphale pouted as the demon stroked her hair. 

“You should try to. You need to sleep.”

“He’s going to come back.” Her voice was riddled with fear.

He pursed his lips and sighed. “I’ll be here. Right beside you, all night. Wide awake while you sleep.”

Aziraphale shook her head in defiance, wanting to argue. The weight of everything had drained her, but she wasn’t willing to succumb to her biological needs. 

Crowley kissed her forehead and whispered, “Forgive me. Dream of whatever makes you happiest.”  _ Snap. _ Aziraphale was out like a light. Crowley winced as he watched the angel breathe, her chest rising and falling in rhythm. He tilted his head back in shame and let it fall forward. He made a promise and had no intentions of breaking it. The demon curled up beside his wife and softly began to read poems out loud. He did so all night, only taking breaks to drink his tea or to fetch a new book. He read until the morning sun crept into the room and his wife blinked awake.

“Good morning, Angel.”


End file.
